This week has been beyond the beyond.
Man-made and accidental disasters.
The sun rises and sets, rises and sets.
With beauty and intention.
So predictable, loyal, steady, sustaining....
Don't leave a party
Stay until the bitter end
Kick up a fuss, Sun!
It is my greatest parental joy to watch as my daughters discover their own passions and act on them.
They have grown from tiny babies into really kind of extraordinary people.
I love and admire so many of their choices. So much of what they do.
And then every so often there are these things, like a 12-year-old hurling herself off a 7 meter platform into a pool, that put a lump in my throat. I actually still love and admire it, but often through squinted eyes with a lump in my throat.
She's a flying fish
My daughter dives; my heart stops
Which of us is brave?
Today was a dark day that started brightly.
Or a bright day that ended badly.
Isn't that the way things like this go?
So often we don't know which miraculous or horrific things we'll meet on any given day.
Suddenly, a bright day in Boston -- the streets packed with people from everywhere, celebrating the joy and determination, the strength and dedication, the deep tradition and utter wackiness that is a marathon -- turns into sorrow and mayhem.
There's hardly a thing to say.
We have faith that justice will be served.
We have hope that goodness will prevail.
And we grieve the loss of lives and limbs and innocence.
I'm a runner of many, many years -- too slow to ever make Boston but there in spirit.
This is wholly inadequate, but for now it's all I've got.
Each time we lace up
it's a promise and a wish
to start and finish
My husband tries valiantly with his vegetables each year.
We have a lot of shade trees.
We have a dog who digs.
We have hot sun and drought.
But he whistles and digs and weeds and whistles and culls until, inevitably, something always grows.
Aren't plants miraculous?
No wonder there are fairytales about them...
My sweetheart is Jack
just waiting for his beanstalk.
The giant waits too.